Raylan awoke to the sound of sharp buzzing. He paused for a second, still half-asleep and not quite sure what the hell that noise was. As consciousness returned to him, though, he realized that the buzzing was his phone, and if he didn't hurry up and answer it, he'd end up having to fish it out from between his bed and the bedside table.
Throwing out a hand, he felt around for a second until he felt the plastic beneath his fingers. A glance at the lit-up screen revealed two things that annoyed Raylan greatly: it was one in the damn morning, and it was Art calling.
"Art, this better be good," he grumbled.
"Raylan, you're gonna want to come down to the office."
The statement wasn't particularly telling, but there was something in Art's tone that had Raylan sitting up in the bed, swinging his legs over the side as he started to stand. "What's happened?"
He was ready for Art to say something bad. The way he'd sounded, he didn't know if a deputy had died or some mega-crook had broken out. He was ready for anything.
"It's Tim…we can't get a hold of him."
Except, maybe, for that.
Less than twenty minutes later, Raylan was walking off the elevator into the office. He had no tie, and his shirt wasn't buttoned more than two, three buttons – signs of the hurry he'd been in to get down there.
Art was waiting for him in the bull pen when he got in. "Rachel's on her way," he said.
"You hear anything from Tim?"
Art shook his head, and Raylan felt the knot in his chest tighten. "Tried him a couple more times, but he's still not answering his phone."
"When's the last time you heard from him?"
"His last check in was seven hours ago. He was supposed to check in three hours ago, but we never got anything."
Raylan frowned, walking over to Tim's desk. "He's working that Maddox case, isn't he?"
Art nodded. "At the Reaver house, over near your neck of the woods."
That wasn't what Raylan wanted to hear. He knew what case Tim was working on, and he hadn't been happy about it when Tim had first told him. He'd heard stories about the Reavers, and he didn't want Tim going anywhere near it.
He cared about Tim, after all. What they had…well, while a couple of late nights…and locker rooms…while that didn't constitute a relationship, Tim was someone he wanted to protect. After Winona, Tim had been there with his fridge full of beers and head full of quirky little jokes and those crooked little smiles. One thing had led to another, and Raylan wanted desperately for it to lead to something else, it just…hadn't quite made it that far yet.
Between that, and Tim's knack for getting himself in sticky situations, Raylan was worried. He told himself that it was probably just a mistake or something, that maybe Tim had just dozed off or gotten too busy to check in. Maybe his phone had died.
Only, there was this feeling Raylan had in his gut. Like a lead weight had settled in the pit of it, and it wasn't going anywhere. Because Tim didn't fall asleep on the job; he was too good for that. He didn't get distracted; when he was on the job, there wasn't a soul in the world more on-point than he. And if his phone had broken, surely he would've found a way to get in touch with them.
Something was wrong…he could feel it.